


Moulin Bleue

by orphan_account



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Moulin Rouge, F/M, literally just moulin rouge rewritten for fjorester, more tags to be added as i continue, you'll know why those warnings are there if you've watched moulin rouge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 12:24:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19992172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Moulin Rouge. A kingdom of nighttime pleasures, where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The world had been swept up in bohemian revolution, and people travelled from all over to be a part of it.One such person was Jester who sought Paris out as the center of the bohemian world, wanting to join the leagues of the musicians, painters and writers there and experience the truth, beauty, freedom and that which she believed in above all else: love.(I'm sorry to say that this will likely never get a second chapter. I got slightly burnt out on critroll and d&d content in general and I do not have the motivation nor inspiration to continue this as of right now! I'm sorry!!!)





	Moulin Bleue

**Paris 1899**

* * *

Paris. A city of light and life and, occasionally, love. Holy men would shake their head and warn others away from the city, branding it as the home of many sin. But still, hopeful creatives would journey and try to settle there, with varying levels of success.

They all aspired to rule the shining gem of the city known as the Moulin Rouge. Ruled over by Trent Ikithon, it was a kingdom of nighttime pleasures, where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The world had been swept up in bohemian revolution, and people travelled from all over to be a part of it.

One such person was a young woman by the name of Jester, though she had no real knowledge of what the Moulin Rouge was at the time. Instead, she sought Paris out as the center of the bohemian world, wanting to join the leagues of the musicians, painters and writers and experience the truth, beauty, freedom and that which she believed in above all else: love.

There was just one problem. She'd never been truly in love! And so she sat, hands hovering over her typewriter, as she agonised over what she was truly going to do about this dilemma.

Luckily, it was at that moment that an unconscious man fell through her roof. Moments after, they were joined by an taller man peering his head around the door.

"Oh, hello," he said, voice low and gentle. "My name is Caduceus Clay. I'm terribly sorry about all this, we were just upstairs rehearsing a play. More of a spectacular, really."

Jester, for one of the first times in her life, was stunned into near silence. As it was, she was able to get out a quick, "What?"

Caduceus, as Jester decided very quickly that formalities probably meant little when people fell through ceilings, explained that the man who had dropped in would sometimes lose himself in his memories. This wouldn't have been an issue, if it weren't for the precarious position he had been before it happened.

"How is he? Is he okay?" A small-framed woman fretted as she looked down from the hole in the ceiling. She wasn't the only one using the newly formed window to check on the unconscious man; she was joined by two other women, one pale and stone-faced and the other darker-skinned and with a sour expression.

"Oh, Caleb's fine," Caduceus assured after checking the man over. "I don't think he'll be very available for the rest of the evening though. At this rate, I don't think we'll be done in time to show the financier tomorrow."

"You're right," said the the stone-faced woman. "I still have to finish the music."

"We could just find someone else to read the part."

"But where are we going to find someone to read the part of a young, sensitive Swiss poet-slash-goat herder?"

* * *

Before Jester knew it, she was swept upstairs to stand in for the unconscious man. As she stood in the studio - directly above her own place - it very quickly became apparent that there were some artistic differences over Nott's lyrics and Yasha's songs.

"I don't think a nun would say that about a hill," Caduceus cut in over an especially bad idea.

"What if he sings, 'The hills are vital, intoning the descant'?" was Yasha's suggestion. Jester liked Yasha, she really did, but it was clear that while the woman had quite the talent for the piano, she had none when it came to writing lyrics.

"The hills quake and shake-"

"The hills-"

"The hills incarnate with symphonic melodies," mumbled Caleb. The studio fell silent as everyone considered it, but unanimously decided against it.

Amongst all the bickering and quite frankly _bad_ lyrics, Jester had come up with her own idea. But every time she tried to politely bring it up, she was overrun with far louder voices. In the end, she figured that she should try something and took a deep breath.

"The hills are alive," she sang, "With the sound of music." The studio fell silent once more, but this time the arguing did not restart.

"The hills are alive," Caduceus repeated.

"With the sound of music," finished Nott and Yasha.

"It fits perfectly," said Beau, the first words she'd said since she was introduced. Emboldened by everyone's response, Jester continued to sing.

"With songs they have sung, for a thousand years!"

"Oh, that's brilliant," Caduceus said. "Nott, you two should write the show together."

"Or," Nott put in. "She could write it by herself. I'm still not sure why you all decided to make me the writer."

And it seemed, that that was all it took to settle things. By now, Caleb had come round and Nott saw fit to celebrate, pulling out a bottle of a honeyed liquid. When Jester took a sip it burned the back of her throat. Past the burn, she could faintly taste a trace of aniseed.

"Uh, I do worry that Ikithon won't agree to this," Caleb said, his accent thickening as his glass empties. "No offense, Jester, but have you ever written anything like this before?" She shook her head.

"Ah, you worry too much," Beau cut in, wrapping an arm around Jester's shoulders. "She's got talent! I like her."

Caduceus seemed to agree with her. "I'm sure that with Jester we can write the truly bohemian revolutionary show that we've always dreamt of."

"But how will we convince Ikithon?"

Caduceus seemed to have a plan. "Fjord." They would dress Jester in the best clothes they had between them and pass her off as a famous writer. Once Fjord heard her poetry, he'd be astounded and insist to Ikithon that she write the spectacular. Yet despite the man's apparent certainty, she couldn't help but find herself riddled with doubt and tried to go home through the convenient hole in the floor.

"I don't even know if I'm a true bohemian revolutionary," she argued when they asked why she was so against the idea.

"Do you believe in beauty?" Caduceus asked.

"Yes?"

Freedom?" Caleb asked.

"Yes, of course!"

"Truth?" Beau asked.

"Well, mostly..."

"Love?" Yasha asked.

"Love?" Jester echoed. "Love. Above all things, I believe in love. Love is like... oxygen, love is a many-splendour-ed thing, love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love!" Coming to the end of her rant, she finds that all of them are staring at her with varying smiles on their faces.

"You can't fool us," Caduceus said, light dancing in his wide, brown eyes. "You're the voice of children of the revolution."

And well, who was Jester to argue with that?


End file.
